Fearing The Unknown
by atharrixrdan-archive
Summary: AU. A Fringe Investigation into the merging of two buildings gets personal for Peter when the victim makes a connection to him after a meeting with Olivia & Walter in the hospital triggers memories of the her past on the other side. LJ Challenge prompts.
1. A Fear of what is, and what has been

**Title**: A Fear of what is, and What Has Been

**Prompt**: Fear

**Characters**: Clare Warren/ Fringe Team

**Genre**: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

**Fandom**: Clare is a Fringe AU OC (no specific time frame is set but it's before season 3)

**Summary**: AU. After an earthquake caused by a Fringe event in New York, which results in the merging of a building from here and the other side, the Fringe team get more than they bargained for when they discover a frightened and injured little girl hiding in the building who appears to have come from the Other Side.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Fringe, but I do own Clare =]

**References**: quotes taken directly from 2x15 Jacksonville. Oh, and I do not have any medical training so I apologise if anything is wrong.

**Timeline**: This story arc is AU to the Season 2 episode 'Jacksonville' - The Arc's time frame (for this collection of pieces) is between 'Jacksonville' and 'Peter' (I will start off a new collection when I reach the Peter episode).

**Note**: This is my first attempt at writing anything _Fringe_, so please forgive me if any of the characters are ooc

* * *

><p><em><strong>Unknown Location - New York City<strong>_

_How did they find me?_

Clare Warren whimpered as the building around her began to shake, her back hitting the doorframe as she slid back against the tiled floor in an attempt to get away from the approaching voices.

_How did they find me?_

As footsteps echoed down one of the dark hallways leading to the room Clare was hiding in, the ground and walls around her, gave an almighty jolt, which sent furniture crashing to the floor and the lights above the young girls head to explode in an array of electrical sparks. Clare's blue eyes darted around the room from her position as she shot a quick glance down the hallway before scrambling further into the room to the closest corner to her as a cabinet in the far corner opposite her crashed to the floor – sending vibrations through the floor beneath her.

"This is the last hall to search!" A man's voice shouted over the sound of falling debris, which caused Clare's eyes to dart from the window to the doorway. "It'll just take a few minutes!"

"They've ordered and evacuation of the building," A woman's voice shouted back in answer from further away as the room shook, causing Clare to slide involuntarily from the wall she had positioned herself against due to the increasing seismic activity taking place beneath her. "We've got to get out of here!"

"But the girl –"

"We've called an Amber Protocol," The woman shouted back. "There's nothing we can do."

Clare scrambled back against the wall, unable to hear the man's cursed response above the noise, understanding the implications of the woman's warning. Amber Protocol was a quarantine order from the Fringe Division – and the Fringe Division was under the jurisdiction of the Department of Defence. With her chest heaving, Clare pushed herself back further into the corner, her breathing coming in gasps as adrenaline coursed through her small body.

Clare had been running and hiding for two days now, and her once clean t-shirt was now dull from the dust reigning down from the ceiling above, and the alleyways she had taken refuge in over the past 72 hours. Her brown-blonde hair was now slightly matted from where she had been sleeping rough over the past few days, and her skin had taken on a paler shade due to the lack of food and water she had taken.

A high pitched noise sounded from the street below, meaning the Amber Protocol had been initiated and the machine was coming online, as the buildings shaking grew more intense as the seconds passed. Clare cowered in the corner, bringing her bare arms up to shield her face from the falling rubble, as the cracks which had begun to appear in the ceiling with the earthquake grew and the ceiling tiles began to drop and break apart on impact with the floor. A small scream escaped Clare's lips as one ceiling tile came crashing down close to her, causing shrapnel to fly in her direction – some of it burying itself into Clare's raised arms and an exposed bit of her forehead – causing Clare to bite down on her lip hard, drawing blood.

As the windows shattered and the Amber Protocol began to take effect, the building gave a final lurch, before everything around Clare fell silent, and a sharp pain sparked through the young girl's side. Clare's chest heaved as she tried to slow her breathing, opening her blue eyes and lowering one bloodied arm slightly to look out to the room she was in, thinking that something must have gone wrong with the Amber Protocol. Instead, Clare found herself staring into the unblinking eyes of a man who was trapped beneath a beam that hadn't been there moments before. Clare's wide blue eyes locked onto the man's dulled brown as she realised that the lack of reaction by the man could only be dead.

Trying to shift her body away from the man's lifeless form, Clare felt a sharp pain in her side. looking down, Clare let out a small whimper as she found herself looking at a thin piece of piping protruding from her now bloodied shirt, just below her rib cage. A wave of nausea overcame her as the pain and wound registered and connected in her brain as the wave of pain shot through her thin frame; leaving Clare dizzy as black dots danced across her blurring vision.

Clare's last thoughts before she slipped into blissful unconsciousness were of fear and confusion, as her curled body became limp as she rested against the now cracked wall she was pressed up against, with the thin pipe lodged into it.

-o-

Meanwhile, outside the building, distant sirens could be heard as spectators below rang emergency services, friends and family after witnessing the strange events which occurred around the sudden surge of mini-earthquakes which seemed to be focused around the steel structure which now had seemed to have merged with a similar structure – this one made of brick. As the dust settled and emergency services arrived, news of this event reached the ears of Special Agent Phillip Broyles, who led a small team who specialised in cases of this kind.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Bishop Residence - Boston, Massachusetts <strong>_

It was 2:03 AM which found a tired Peter Bishop being roused from his sleep by his mobile phone vibrating on his bedside table. Groaning slightly, Peter raised his head slightly as he reached over blindly to pick up the phone, and after a glance at the caller ID flipped open the device.

"Bishop."

"Peter? its Olivia. We've got a case."

Peter groaned as he allowed his head to hit the pillow in defeat before pulling off his bed cover to reveal a pair of dark sweat pants and an old MIT Jumper.

"You've got to be kidding me." Peter answered hoarsely, as he got up and made his way downstairs toward Walter's bedroom, which had once been the houses study before the Bishop men had moved in.

"Afraid not," Olivia Dunham answered, with a smile in her voice as she got ready to leave her apartment to meet the Bishops and Broyles before heading to New York, sitting on the edge of her bed and tying her shoe laces. "Congratulations Mr. Bishop. You've just won an all-expense-paid trip to New York City."

Walking into the kitchen and switching on the coffee machine on the counter, Peter poured himself a cup of strong black coffee as he answered jokingly. "I thought I told you people to take me off our contestant list."

"Not according to our records." Olivia answered as she held the phone to her ear on her shoulder as she pulled on her long black jacket. "It says here that you are a fan of fine dining and excitement."

Walking toward Walter's bedroom, Peter held his coffee cup in one hand and the phone in the other as he padded over to the closed double doors, which led to his father's ground floor bedroom.

"Do you have a supervisor? Anybody there I can complain to? Cause this has to stop."

Olivia chuckled.

"Did I mention there was excitement?" The FBI Agent asked in a tempting voice as she picked up her keys and made her way out of her apartment and to her car. This banter had become a common occurrence between the pair as the Fringe team were called out more often in the early hours of the morning.

Pulling open the door to Walter's room, Peter smiled as he shut off the phone and lightly rapped on the glass pane as Walter raised a tousled haired head from the pillow on his sofa bed. "Walter, wake up. We've won an all-expense paid trip to New York."

Looking blearily up into his son's blue eyes, Walter Bishop smiled at the idea of winning a trip to New York. "That's fantastic. I've never won anything before."

Peter smiled tiredly at the look of elation on his father's face, before starting to get them both ready for the trip to New York for the new case.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Unknown Location – New York City<strong>_

"An earthquake in New York. It's possible but highly unlikely." Walter commented as he and Peter sat in the back of Phillip Broyles black SUV as it sped through several sets of traffic lights toward the scene of the building merge.

"Were there any witnesses?" Olivia asked from her position in the passenger seat as Broyles drove them toward the busy scene before them.

"Witnesses outside felt the ground shake, and after a violent tremor which kicked up alot of dust, they found themselves looking at half-of-a-building that hadn't been there moments before. They say it just appeared."

"Where there any people inside?" Olivia asked as she stepped out of the SUV as Broyles parked it beside a fire engine which was parked up half on the curb as fire fighters found a small electrical fire that had broken out in the steel section of the building. Looking up, Olivia's green coloured eyes took in the two buildings now melded into one; the brick structure out of place against it's metal counterpart which seemed skeletal without its windows, which had been blown out by an unknown explosion.

"Emergency services are currently searching the buildings for survivors after securing the entrance to the building." Broyles explained just as two EMT's wheeled out a gurney with a body covered in a white sheet and walked past them as Walter and Peter came up beside the two federal agents.

"How many have they found so far?" Peter asked as he looked up at the building, as he removed his gloves from his pocket.

"Zero." Broyles answered heavily as Walter made a quick examination of the building from his place beside Olivia.

"It looks..." Olivia began, unable to find the right words to describe the new structure.

"...rearranged" Walter finished as he took in the building, which showed a crack going down its side. "Extraordinary."

Broyles led the team toward the Brick infrastructure before them; walking past another pair of EMT's as they walked through what remained of a set of double doors, which were hanging on by their hinges. "The structural merge appears stable enough and teams are investigating the steel structure to see if there was anyone on that side of the building and if so, if they are alive."

Making their way carefully through debris from collapsed furniture and fallen ceiling tiles, Olivia took in the teams of EMT's and Fire-fighters who were removing bodies and checking for any survivors beneath the rubble and collapsed infrastructure. Following the beam of light from her flashlight, Olivia noted that the people found in this building appeared to be from the side of the building the team stood in rather than from the other structure. One body however, seemed to be in the middle of the two structures as the melded figure, with two faces fused together lay splayed on the ground where the melding of buildings originated.

"Oh, my God," Olivia breathed as she took in the sight which could have been pulled out of a science fiction movie.

Broyles, who was walking a few steps ahead of Olivia, could be heard asking Walter. " I don't suppose you have any idea what could have caused something like this?"

"Quantum Tectonic would be my guess," Walter answered slowly as he examined a body, which lay at the foot of the stairs the team appeared to be heading toward. Peter took in the structure itself, taking note of the crack which signalled the emergence of the two buildings: clearly marking where the Brick structure finished and the steel structure began.

"A 'Quantum tectonic event'?" Broyles asked as he stopped in the middle of the first flight of stairs to turn to the scientist.

"Yes. A momentary disturbance at a subatomic level. The energy disperses the atoms, literally tearing the very fabric of reality itself."

"Meaning that all the atoms come apart, but when they reassemble, they come together all wrong." Peter put in by way of translation as he followed his father, Olivia and Broyles up the stairs.

"So what are the odds of something like this occurring naturally?" Olivia asked as they walked up the stairs to one of the upper floors.

"It is possible. But if so, God has a far more disturbed sense of humour than even I could have imagined." Walter chuckled to himself as shouts came from the upper levels of the structure.

"We've got a survivor. Fourth floor."

* * *

><p>Clare blinked slowly. Her eyelids heavy, as she opened and closed her glazed blue eyes, as she adjusted her vision to the slightly dim light. The first thing she felt was a dull throbbing pain from her side where she was still pinned to the wall, and sharp stabs of pain from her arms where pieces of the ceiling tiles still lay embedded in her skin. A trickle of blood ran down from the corner of Clare's right eye from a particularly deep cut from the flying debris that had hit her during the quake.<p>

Trying to take a deep breath, Clare let out a gasp as she felt a slight pull from the thin piece of metal which still lay embedded inside her. A small pool of blood had started to form at her side from where the blood had run down her side, drenching her jeans and causing her to feel sweat trickle down her forehead. Clare whimpered at the pain as her glazed blue eyes took in the flashing lights hitting the steel beams of the outer structure of the building. Looking up, Clare's brow furrowed in confusion at the two different ceiling designs: on one side, was the cracked and half-destroyed tiled structure she was familiar with, but on the other side, was a cracked ceiling made of stone, which seeped dust from the disruption of the quake which had occurred.

Sounds began to register in Clare's mind as sirens, and people talking on megaphones could be heard outside the building, and movement could be heard on the floor below her, with the sound of heavy material being shifted through, as if being searched. Clare began to panic at this – the prospect of the man and woman who had been looking for her returning to search for her caused a spike of fear to bring her back to the fact that she was on the run from the people who had taken her away from her parents, weeks before, and who she had been able to escape from only days before.

_I'm not going back to that place_. Clare thought as tears began to escape the corners of her eyes as she began to move her legs, which pulled on the metal and caused her to bite back a small scream of pain. She was used to holding in her screams now, but it still didn't mean that – like any other kid her age – she didn't want to scream for someone to find her, to make everything better.

Trying to remain still, Clare noticed that her limbs had started shaking, whether down to the cold or to the shock to her system the injury was causing, she didn't know. As she took short, sharp breaths, Clare noticed flashlights appearing on the floor at the entrance to the room she was in, as footsteps could be heard out in the hallway, as – unbeknownst to Clare – EMT's began to search the final floor of the buildings, not hoping to find anyone alive after witnessing the destruction the event had caused and seeing the mangled bodies of people who had been in the building at the time.

Glazed blue eyes widened as the flashlight beam grew brighter as the person holding it grew closer and Clare could make out the silhouette of a person in the light shed by another flashlight near to them. Trying not to hyperventilate, Clare tried to shift, but this time she couldn't hold back the scream that erupted as a nearby ceiling tile – which had been hanging off – dropped, causing her to pull against the pipe, which shifted painfully inside her.

Footsteps could be heard as soon as the sound escaped her lips as a bright flashlight landed on her as a Fire-fighter who had been walking toward the room, heard the scream and ran toward the room, only for his flashlight to land on a small figure half curled up in the corner of the room, where the two buildings merged, with a small metal pipe showing to be sticking out of her side as the girl covered her face with a bloodied arm at the flashlight hitting her pale features.

Taking off the protective mask he had been wearing, to shield himself from the rising dust on the building floor, the Fire-fighter held the torch lower so as not to blind the girl, as he called out in an urgent tone. "I need a medic!"

The man, whose name patch read 'REYNOLDS', made his way carefully over to Clare, who had begun to whimper once again – out of fear and pain – and gently knelt down in front of her, taking note of the body of the man nearby.

"Hey, you're going to be okay." Reynolds said soothingly at the fearful expression on the young girls face. Clare didn't move her arm from her face at the sound of the man's voice. He sounded sincere, but that didn't mean that he could be trusted – the people who had taken her away from her parents had sounded sincere, but they had turned out not to be nice people – especially the doctors she had been taken to.

Two paramedics – one man and one woman- appeared at the doorway moments later, just as word reached the lower floors that a survivor had been found on the top floor.

"What have we got?" the male paramedic named 'FULLER' asked as he and his partner 'NICHOLS' made their way over to Reynolds and Clare, who began coughing as the adults began to upset the dust which had fallen and now rested on the floor in a thick layer.

"A little girl – maybe about nine years old – she looks like she had some shrapnel in her arms from the fallen debris, but she also appears to have a thin metal pipe protruding from her side. " Reynolds explained, after he had assessed the girl from his position in front of her. "I'll get a team and we'll clear the area while you treat her and get her out of here."

Fuller nodded as Nichols came over to Clare, stepping around collapsed furniture and coming to Clare's side – noticing the shivers running through her small frame, and the pool of blood growing beside her on the floor.

"It looks like she's tried to move, but she shifted the pipe a little deeper the wrong way." Nichols explained as she placed a gentle hand on Clare's leg, which caused the girl to wince and shy away from the paramedic's hand. "Hey, sweetie, it's okay. We're here to help."

Clare didn't answer as she let out another whimper. Nichols shared a look with Fuller, noting he thought the same thing she did. Something had happened to the young girl, before the building – and she was terrified.

"I think we going to need to set up an IV here, she doesn't look to good." Fuller commented as Nichols edged closer to Clare who lowered her arm slightly as she woman drew closer to see different uniform than she was familiar with and the reassuring gaze of a woman in her early thirties.

"Hey," Nichols said with a small smile as she watched the small girl lower her bloodied arm from her face, to take a look at her. "My name is Moira, I'm a Doctor, and I'm here to help you, okay?"

Clare nodded in response as she forced herself to calm down, her instincts telling her that this woman wasn't going to hurt her.

"Can you tell me your name, sweetie?" Moira asked gently as she took Clare's arm gently, feeling the child tense momentarily before relaxing, and examined the shrapnel wounds, and some of the still bleeding cuts.

"Clare," Clare whispered as she watched Moira's every move carefully.

"Hi, Clare," Moira smiled. "This is my partner, Chris; we're going to get you out of here as soon as we can, and to a hospital to make you better okay?"

Clare gulped and nodded slowly, as she noted that her instincts told her to trust the woman, the shaking in her arms decreasing as Moira smiled encouragingly at her.

"Okay, I'm going to have to insert an IV line into your hand so that we can give you some pain medication, and we're going to give you some oxygen to help you breath while we take a look at this nasty wound on your side."

Clare nodded as she continued to take short, shallow breaths, so as not to upset the pipe in her side. Nearby, the paramedic, Chris – Clare remembered – was having a hurried conversation with the Fire-fighter who found her (Reynolds).

_We may need to cut the pipe, so that it can be removed at the hospital_, Fuller was saying as the two men discussed how to extract the young girl from the wall without removing the pipe.

_I'll get someone to bring some cutting equipment up here, but i think you may need to dislodge her slightly, so that we can cut the pipe behind her. I don't think there is any avoiding it – although it could make the injury worse_. Reynolds noted as Fuller nodded in reluctant agreement, as new voices could be heard coming down the hallway.

_That must be the Feds_, Clare heard Moira note as she continued her silent treatment of her – Clare turned her head as she noticed Moira was getting ready to insert a vent flow into the vein in the crook of her arm.

"I'm going to insert this needle, so that we can hook you up to a Saline bag, which is going to feed you some pain relief alright?" Moira explained. Noting Clare's head turning away as she produced the small piece of equipment, Moira paused as she asked. "Are you scared of needles?"

Clare nodded silently, not turning her head back to the lady.

"I'll make this quick," Moira reassured as she expertly found a vein and inserted the needle of the vent flow into the vein at the crook of Clare's right arm. Clare winced as she felt the sharp prick as the needle broke the skin, before turning her eyes back to watch Moira put on a piece of special gauze with the centre cut out to place around the vent flow to prevent it being dislodged.

"There, that wasn't so bad was it?"

Clare shook her head, giving the paramedic what could be hinted at as a tiny smile at the corner of her mouth. Removing an oxygen mask from the medical bag beside her, Moira leant over to gently place it over Clare's head. "This should help you breathe a little easier okay?"

Clare nodded as Moira hooked up a Saline bag to the vent flow in Clare's arm and released the valve to allow the clear fluid to enter Clare's blood stream. Just as Nichols did this, Fuller came to his partner's side to see how things were going and explain the situation to them both.

"Hello Clare, my name is Chris. I'm going to explain what we're going to do to get you out of here okay?"

Clare nodded as she smelt the oxygen of the mask as she inhaled, as Moira began to inject a solution into the saline bag.

"Okay, as you can tell, it won't be easy to get you out of here because of the metal that is lodged into your side. We can't remove it otherwise we could make the injury a lot worse and you could lose a lot more blood than you already have." Chris explained calmly. "So, fireman Reynolds and his team are going to have to help us cut the section of pipe that is behind you, so that we can transport you to hospital where we will be able to remove it safely."

Clare nodded as she used her left hand to hold the mask in place, as Moira began to use some gauze to cover the top of Clare's bared arms, where the shrapnel was embedded. It was a thick white pad to protect Clare's arms just until they could reach the hospital and remove the shrapnel there.

"Now in order to cut the pipe from the wall," Chris continued, "we may have to move you forward slightly away from the wall to gain access to the section of metal."

At Clare's eyes widening in fear, Chris spoke quickly to reassure her. "it's nothing to worry about, and we'll be giving you some morphine so that you won't feel the pain as acutely as you would if we didn't give you any pain medication."

"Are you allergic to any medication, sweetie?" Moira asked, cutting in so as to take the girls mind off the possibility of even more pain.

From a visual examination, Nichols rough diagnosis was that the pipe had missed most of the vital organs – it may have nicked the top of the girls right kidney in penetration, and had been shifted to scrape the spleen and ribs when Clare had started moving and coughing. This could be dangerous as Clare could go into hypovolemic shock and she was now had a higher risk of infection with the injury.

_The shrapnel from the falling debris would need to be taken out of Clare's arms and forehead, but it shouldn't leave any permanent damage_, Moira thought, _maybe a few small scars – particularly the nasty cut by her eyebrow_.

Clare shook her head, not knowing if she was allergic to any medication or not. A wave of drowsiness swept over Clare as the medication Moira had injected into her began to take effect. Morphine was a strong drug – especially so when it came to prescribing it to children – but the severity of Clare's wound made its use necessary in this case.

As Moira sent Chris to fetch a c-collar, and back board, Reynolds and another Fire-fighter showed up with the necessary cutting equipment needed to extract the young girl from the wall so that they could take her for the emergency treatment she required. Behind the two firemen, Moira could make out four newcomers on the scene – and from the badges, she could tell that at least two of them were Federal agents. They appeared to be holding back, probably due to finding out the only survivor they had found so far was a child, who wouldn't be able to answer any of their questions for a while.

Moira nodded to Reynolds, as she turned her gaze back to Clare, whose eyes had closed as the pain medication took effect. Moments later, Chris brushed passed the Four feds who were watching the Emergency team around Clare work, and back to the two firemen and his partner as they worked to free the girl of no more than around 10 or 11 years old.

* * *

><p>Sharing a quick glance the team made their way to the top of the flight of stairs to the top most floors. As the group reached the top floor, they noted that Emergency teams had only just begun their search of the hallway, yet most of the activity seemed to be in the further most room from the stairs. Lamps had been set up around the room, Olivia noted as they made their way toward the commotion, brightening the work area as people came in and out – some fire-fighters and others paramedics.<p>

Broyles walked purposefully toward the doorway, his beige coat rising lightly as his coat tails caught the slight breeze caused by the man's steady strides. He could hear Dunham's footfalls behind his, as the Bishops spoke in hushed tones over something noted by Walter. As they entered the large room, Broyles took note of the blood stains which lined the bottom of the doorframe, as he stopped short just inside the room. Olivia, Peter and Walter followed suit, just as a paramedic brushed past them with a back board and collar in his hands.

They watched as the paramedic headed towards the corner furthest away from them – where the two buildings merged – to find them working on a smaller figure that was slightly curled into the corner.

"The survivor's a kid?" Peter asked, voicing everyone's thoughts aloud. Peter's brow furrowed as he noticed the child's body language as he caught a glimpse of her before the paramedics and fire-fighters surrounded her, after moving positions. _The Kid's terrified_, Peter thought to himself as he also noted the penetration wound they emergency teams were working on.

"It appears so." Broyles answered as another EMT approached the group.

* * *

><p>"Clare, sweetie," Moira said, rousing the young girl from her light medicated doze. "Here's where it gets difficult okay. We're going to have to move you forward a little so that fireman Reynolds and his colleague can access the piping behind you, they are going to have to use a saw to cut the pipe and the vibrations are going to hurt."<p>

Clare's chest heaved slightly, but the girl nodded tiredly as she lay with her head on the opposite wall, where she had rested against since the EMT's arrival. Her hair was now damp, and Clare could feel a coat of sweat forming on her skin; both on her forehead, which began to mix with the blood from her cut above her eye, and underneath the gauze pads which had been placed on her arms.

"Okay, I'm going to move to your other side, so that I can keep an eye on your heart rate and breathing with my stethoscope, to make sure you remain stable, okay?" Moira asked, receiving another nod from the young girl.

Turning to the two firemen, Moira nodded in consent. "Let's do this."

Clare cried as Reynolds and Fuller aided Nichols in moving her forward a couple of inches, so as to get better access to the piping behind her, so that they could cut her free. Even though the morphine was in full affect, Clare could still feel the ripping and tearing of tissue and the metal causing friction as she was pulled forward. Her t-shirt was now dark crimson all down her right side and she shivered against the cold.

"Well done, Clare sweetie, just a few moments and we'll have you free." Moira reassured as she caught the gaze of the ground emergency co-ordinator, James Cooper, who appeared to be in discussion with the Federal Agents. A younger man who stood with the group was watching them work closely, taking in every move they made, as the older man beside him listened to the Federal agents conversation with Cooper.

"It hurts," the girl whimpered, her voice laced with pain, as she supported her head on Dr. Nichols shoulder.

"I know." Moira answered as she continued to move her stethoscope to make sure her breathing was even and her heart wasn't being strained. The sound of the saw beginning to cut through the pipe, caused the girl to let out a cry of agony as the vibrations ran through her weakened body. Reynolds partner was hold the other end of the piping which protruded out in the front, but even he could stop the vibrations resonating through the metal as Reynolds switched off the saw, meaning that the task was done.

"It's all over now, sweetie," Moira said, as Reynolds moved aside to allow Fuller access to the girl. When the doctor received no response, she quickly moved her stethoscope to Clare's chest, after dropping it momentarily to support the girl as the pipe was cut through, and a finger to a pulse point on Clare's neck to find an uneven pulse – barely readable.

"She's gone into shock, we need to move now!"

* * *

><p><em><strong>Several Hours Later – Mount Sinai Medical Centre, New York City<strong>_

In the waiting area of the Mount Sinai Medical Centre, Phillip Broyles, Olivia Dunham, Peter Bishop and Walter Bishop sat and stood around waiting for news on the condition of the little girl who was now one of the three survivors of the building merge earlier that morning. It was now nearly 11AM and the team had arrived at the centre just after 8AM – after finishing up their investigations at the site, and getting several bodies shipped back to Boston for Walter's analysis back at his Harvard Lab.

Walter had wanted to go with the bodies straight to the lab, but Peter had wanted to stay in order to check on the condition of the girl who had been rescued. Since finding out the girl was one of the few survivors, Walter had noted Peter had grown silent for the rest of the teams search – only putting in short comments and small observations as they continued their look at the building. The scientist could tell the younger mans attention was elsewhere, and after Broyles and Olivia had spoke of going to the hospital to check on the girl's condition, Peter had agreed.

From what Doctor's had told the group, the girl had been taken into surgery to repair damaged tissue and ruptured arteries which had been punctured by the pipe that had penetrated her retroperitoneal (anatomical space in the abdominal cavity). The girls kidney had been nicked (as had part of her lower liver) and so had to be repaired, and a chest drain had been inserted into the girls right chest cavity after a fluid build up had been discovered. The shrapnel had been removed and the wounds had been treated with antiseptic cream; the cut above the girls right eye would leave a small scar – the most noticeable of the girls shrapnel injuries.

As Peter moved from his position against the wall, in order to begin his pacing once again, Dr. Moira Nichols walked into the waiting room. Since meeting Clare on scene, Moira had made it her responsibility to oversee the young girls care, and now – just over eight hours later- she was finally satisfied that Clare was stable.

"Hello, my name is Dr. Moira Nichols – I'm the doctor in charge of Clare's case." Broyles, Olivia and Walter stood up as the team shook the doctor's hand respectively.

"How is she doing, Doc?" Peter asked, diving straight into the conversation.

"Well, at the moment, Clare is stable." Moira began. " She has made it through surgery, and is now in recovery. The damage caused by the pipe penetrating her was severe – as you know, it inflicted damage to her liver, kidney and a small section of her lung. She's currently on a ventilator – and will be for the next 24 to 48 hours – as the chest tube drains the fluid build up from her right chest cavity (we believe this was a secondary effect of the penetration)."

"But she's going to pull through?" Olivia asked.

"With time, yes, but she will have to remain here for some time. These injuries are more serious in paediatric cases as the organs are much closer together, than they would be in a fully grown adult. There is also a risk of infection, which means that she can have no visitors for a few days. She's on some heavy duty antibiotics which have begun to work – but she is undernourished and underweight for someone her age, which we will need to keep a close eye on." Moira answered truthfully.

"Have you been able to contact any relatives she may have?" Broyles asked.

Moira shook her head. " I'm afraid – even after we put her details in to the system – we have been unable to find any relatives or any clue where she may have come from."

"Thank you Doctor." Broyles answered with a nod.

"Can we see her at all?" Walter piped up. "Perhaps through an observation window? Until she is allowed visitors into the room."

Dr. Nichols nodded slowly. "That shouldn't be a problem. I'll let the nurses know you will be going up to see her when you are ready." Checking her watch, Moira gave the team an apologetic glance. "I'm sorry, i have to make a quick ward round before I go off shift, please excuse me."

"Thank you again." Broyles said by way of farewell, as the doctor left the room – shutting the door behind her. Peter collapsed into a chair, and rubbed his hands over tired blue eyes as Walter and Olivia joined him on either side, as Broyles turned to his team.

"Any observations as to how the girl could have gotten in to that building?"

"From where she was found, it can be suggested she crossed over with the building from the Other Side." Walter said, looking up and running through the scenario and the lack of data on the nationwide hospital records for the girl.

"My thoughts exactly." Broyles concurred.

"So what do we do? We can't let her go into child protective services – if she is from the other side, then we can't just let her be taken to a place she knows nothing about, in a completely different universe to the one she grew up in." Olivia thought aloud.

Silence met the statement, as the team pondered the implications of the rescued girl travelling across from the parallel universe during the Quantum Tectonic event the previous night, and how the girl herself would deal with it when she woke up days later.

* * *

><p>TBC<p> 


	2. Something That I Try to Hold On To

**Title**: Something that I try to hold on to

**Prompt**: Writer's Choice - Comfort

**Characters**: Clare Warren/Peter Bishop

**Genre**: Hurt/Comfort

**Fandom**: Clare is a Fringe AU OC (no specific time frame is set but it's before season 3)

**Summary**: AU. It is a week after the Fringe event in New York and the young girl found in the building has come around in the hospital. Broyles and the team wish to speak to her and so visit the child after she regains consciousness. However the meeting takes a downward turn after Olivia and Walter trigger memories of the girl's past few weeks on the other side – and Peter finds himself trying to comfort the frightened girl after she latches onto him.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Fringe, but I do own Clare =]

**Timeline**: This story arc is AU to the Season 2 episode 'Jacksonville' - The Arc's time frame (for this collection of pieces) is between 'Jacksonville' and 'Peter' (I will start off a new collection when I reach the Peter episode).

**References**: Indirect references to Walternate and FauxLivia and the end of 'Over There part 2'.

**Note**: Thanks to everyone who took time to read the first chapter. I forgot to mention, this is being written for the **_LJ OCChallenge_**, hence Clare being a main character. Each chapter will have it's own summary unless stated otherwise. Now, time to say 'Hi' to Peter :) Wont be updating again for another few days (depending on when I write the next prompt)

* * *

><p><em><strong>Six Days Later – Mount Sinai Medical Centre, New York City<strong>_

The beeping of a heart monitor was the first thing Clare Warren heard as she drifted slowly back into consciousness after her long sleep. Sunlight filtered through her closed eyelids as she became aware of voices filtering through around her. Taking a deep breath, Clare felt herself wince slightly as she tried to move a little in the bed, as the memories of what had occurred in the building she had taken refuge in returned.

_She had been hiding from people from the Defence Department in an old building after three days on the run from them... _

_She remembered the mini-earthquakes and the ceiling tiles falling down around her, the small pieces cutting her and embedding themselves into her skin... _

_She remembered two distinct voices – a man and a woman's – as they searched for her... _

_She remembered the Amber Quarantine procedures being put in place and the earthquakes getting worse as the Amber device was turned on and activated... _

_She remembered herself waking up after the last violent quake to find herself staring into the eyes of a dead man who hadn't been there before, killed by a fallen beam which had come out of nowhere, and the feeling of not being able to breathe as she felt the small metal pipe inside her..._

_She remembered the Fear that had erupted inside her when she had woken up to find flashing lights reflecting off the steel structure, and the fire-fighter finding her, and then how scared she was when he had called the Doctor lady and her paramedic partner..._

_She remembered the pain as the doctor moved her forward so that the firemen could cut the piping so that she could be taken to hospital, even with the medication the Doctor had given her through the drip she had been put on..._

Blinking against the bright light, Clare slowly opened her glazed blue eyes to find herself in a half lying- half seated position in a hospital bed in what seemed to be a private room of a hospital. Blinking to clear her blurred vision, Clare immediately noted that the walls were a light cream colour with small coloured pictures in frames hanging from them. Her bed was by a large window, which allowed the warm sunshine to spread across her bed (as the blinds had been left open), and she could make out several tall buildings off into the distance whilst a field of grass seemed to cover the ground before them.

Looking down, Clare noticed she remained attached to the IV that had been inserted by the doctor back in the building, and the cuts and scratches on her arms had been tended to. On her left forefinger was a pulse meter, which was hooked up to the machines by her bed which gave read outs of her heart rate, pulse rate and O2 stats. The site where she had been caught by the pipe felt itchy, and a dull ache seemed to emanate from the area – with another dull ache a few centimetres above it.

Just as Clare was about to move the t-shirt of the child size scrubs she had been changed into, to check her injury, the door to the hospital room opened, to reveal a motherly-looking nurse, who was carrying a tray with a couple of IV bags. When she noticed Clare was awake, the nurse smiled brightly. "Hey there, how are you feeling?"

"I'm okay." Clare whispered hoarsely, suddenly realising how thirsty she was.

The nurse, whose name badge read ''WATSON', placed the tray she had been carrying on the moveable table at the foot of Clare's bed, before picking up a plastic cup containing several ice chips.

"Here," Watson said, offering Clare the cup as she came to the girls side, "Take a couple of these, they'll make your throat feel better."

Clare held her hand out palm upwards, as Nurse Watson tipped the cup and allowed three ice chips to fall into the girl's smaller hand. Clare closed her hand around the chips and popped one of the chips into her mouth – allowing the ice to melt on her tongue and sooth her sore throat as she popped the next one in.

"Better?" Nurse Watson asked lightly, as she returned the cup to the table and turned her attention back to the small girl, who she had been caring for over the past few days since her arrival.

Watson's shift had just started when they had wheeled Clare into the Intensive Care department of the Mount Sinai Medical Centre, hooked up to a variety of machines after coming out of several hours of surgery. On that day, it had been hard to tell whether or not the frail girl would pull through, after she had gone into shock en route to the hospital and had later crashed in the ER after the Doctors downstairs had removed the metal that had pierced her. But as the days had passed, Watson had seen the improvement in the girl as her colour returned, the fever she had contracted had been taken care of, and she had been taken off the ventilator nearly 48 hours ago.

Clare nodded and gave the nurse a small smile in response. She did feel better – a lot better than she had been over the past few months- and she also felt her appetite returning to her as she watched Nurse Watson change the empty saline bag she was attached to via the IV with a new one, and then did the same for a bag of coloured liquid.

"How long have I been here?" Clare asked timidly, as Nurse Watson moved around her bed to check the monitors and readouts.

"You've been here for six days." Nurse Watson answered her grey eyes warm. "But you've been in and out of consciousness for the past 36 hours or so since the Doctor took you off the ventilator."

Clare nodded silently as Nurse Watson moved back around to her right side and paused momentarily.

"I'm going to have to check your surgical sites now, just so that I can check the incisions and change the gauze pads. Is that okay?"

"Okay." Clare answered quietly, lifting her arm from the top of the cover to allow the older woman access.

Lifting up the hem of the scrub t-shirt, Nurse Watson revealed a large gauze pad - running up her side. Clare watched as Nurse Watson gave her a smile before placing one hand above the pad, and used the other to gently peel back the white pad.

Clare hissed slightly as the sticky material was removed from her now slightly pink skin, to reveal two incision sites; one larger than the other where the surgeons had repaired the damage caused by the penetrating wound, whilst the smaller incision was made from the chest drain that had been inserted. Clare noted that the smaller incision area was still a slightly angrier shade of red, whilst the larger incision was now a red line running from just below her ribs to near her hip.

"They are looking good, and are healing nicely." Nurse Watson said, pleased with the progress of the healing, as she inspected the surgical scars and brushed the tip of her pinkie finger over the scar with a feather light touch before moving to pick up another gauze pad to cover the wounds.

"Was it bad?" Clare asked as she watched the nurse work.

"Well it wasn't good put it that way." Nurse Watson smiled as ran her hand over the edges of the newly laid gauze. "You are done."

Clare smiled. "Thank you."

"You are welcome." Watson assured. "Are you hungry?"

Clare's eyes lit up, causing Nurse Watson to chuckle. "I'll get the kitchens to send something up for you, okay?"

"Thank you, Miss." Clare answered quietly as Nurse Watson walked toward the door.

"You're welcome. Get some rest, okay?"

"Okay." Clare answered as her eyes once again began to drift closed as the medication in the bags began to take effect.

Nurse Watson smiled as she watched the young girl drift back into sleep, before heading over to the nurses' station, and spoke to one of her colleagues.

"Hey Jeff, the FBI Agents who have been popping in asked to be informed when the girl in room 8 was awake. Do you think you could call them and let them know she's awake?"

"Sure thing, Kelsey." Jeff answered as Kelsey Watson went to order some food to be brought up for the little girl, knowing that in the next few hours, she would need her strength when the agents came to speak to her.

* * *

><p>As Nurse Watson predicted, Phillip Broyles, Olivia Dunham, Peter Bishop and Walter Bishop arrived at the Nurses station of the Mount Sinai Children's Intensive Care, now accompanied by Astrid Farnsworth, after being informed that the young girl who had survived the building merge had finally woken up after nearly a week since the incident had occurred.<p>

"I'm Special Agent Phillip Broyles of the FBI, and this is my associate Olivia Dunham," Broyles said by way of introduction as the two agents produced their Federal ID's to the nurse seated behind the counter. "We received a call informing us that the patient in room 8 had regained consciousness."

"Ah yes, we were told to expect you. Hold on one moment please." The nurse said as she turned to the small microphone on the desk beside her and spoke into it. "_Nurse Watson to the Nurses Station please. Nurse Watson to the Nurses Station_. She won't be a moment"

"Thank you." Broyles nodded as he turned back to his four companions, just as a woman in her mid-to-late thirties came around the corner from one of the wards and headed toward them.

"Hello, I'm Nurse Watson. I'm the nurse in charge on this ward. How can I help you today?" Nurse Watson asked, noting the federal badges.

"I'm Phillip Broyles, we were called regarding a patient – a young girl – who we have wanted to talk to, who has regained consciousness. Her name is Clare –"

"Oh yes, you're the Federal Agents I asked to be rung about the young girl in room 8. Would you like to follow me?" Nurse Watson said, gesturing for the group to join her.

Broyles matched Watson's pace as they walked toward the private rooms near the end of the corridor, whilst Olivia, Peter, Walter and Astrid followed silently behind them. "So what can you tell us about the girl? Did she speak to you?"

"Yes, a little. Only to answer a few questions, and to ask how serious her injuries were." Watson supplied as she slowed her pace in front of an observation window, with its curtains pulled back to allow the group a look at Clare as she stared out of the window – a colouring book and pencils forgotten on the table in front of her. "She's been mainly sleeping after waking up this morning – she's still on pretty strong anti-biotic and pain medication after the operation."

"Do you think we could perhaps have a quick word with her?" Olivia asked, as she watched the young girl from her place between Broyles and Peter, whose arms were folded across his chest as he too watched the young girl rest.

"Perhaps, for a few moments. But please try not to over-excite her. She's had a rough few days and we don't want her to aggravate her surgical sites."

"Thank you, Nurse Watson." Broyles answered, as with a glance at the group, opened the door and led the group through – allowing Nurse Watson to enter ahead of them.

Clare was woken by a hand placed gently on her shoulder. Blinking owlishly, she met the kind face of Nurse Watson, who gave her an apologetic smile.

"Hi, honey, I apologise for waking you, but you have some visitors. They'd like to speak to you, is that okay?" the nurse explained as she moved over slightly to allow Clare to see the newcomers. Clare's brow furrowed slightly when she noticed the strange badges that a couple of members of the group wore on their coat flaps – it was a shield of sorts.

After a few moments, Clare gave a reluctant nod toward the nurse who seemed to make a quick analysis of Clare's response before nodding slowly to the group.

"It's okay," Clare whispered to Nurse Watson, who was still watching her with concern. "You don't have to stay."

"Are you sure?" Nurse Watson whispered back. "I'm not supposed to leave you alone."

Clare nodded. "I'm sure."

"I'll be outside." Nurse Watson said, addressing the group, before giving Clare's hand a gentle squeeze before leaving the room.

At the nurses exit, Peter, Olivia and Broyles moved closer to the girl on either side of the bed - Olivia and Broyles on the side with the IV Pole, whilst Peter moved to lean against the Window Ledge.

"Hello Clare, my name is Phillip Broyles – I'm with the FBI. This is my colleague, Agent Dunham, and that is Peter Bishop, he's a civilian consultant." Broyles said by way of introduction, gesturing to his two companions whilst Astrid stood apart with Walter, who found the pictures on the wall fascinating.

"FBI?" Clare asked, before she could stop herself. The term was unfamiliar to her, but the man's voice was recognisable somehow, and so she kept her eyes low.

"It stands for the 'Federal Bureau of Investigation' – It's who we work for." Olivia said gently, causing Clare's eyes to dart to Olivia's face at the sound of her voice. Broyles and Olivia shared a glance at the girl's question, filing it away.

_That voice sounds familiar_.

Clare nodded, her eyes refusing to meet Olivia's, which caused Olivia to send a questioning glance her way.

"How are you feeling?" Peter asked gently, as he took in the girl's body language with his sharp Blue gaze – noting the slightly withdrawn attitude.

"I'm F-fine, thank you, Sir." Clare answered, not wanting to reveal too much, but sparing a quick glance in Peter's direction. Something about the two people with the strange badges made her uneasy, and a familiar feeling settled in the depths of her stomach.

"That's good." Peter answered, offering the girl a smile, which caused a faint flush of colour to rush through Clare's slightly pale cheeks.

"Clare – do you have a last name?" Broyles asked.

"Warren." Clare answered quietly as she turned her gaze to her hands, which were resting in her lap, the IV line running from the crook of her arm, and off the edge of the bed to the IV Pole.

"Miss Warren, do you think you can tell us what happened on the night of your accident in the building?"

"Take your time." Olivia added, noticing the slight hitch in the girls breathing at the question.

Clare bit her lip, her heart rate unconsciously elevated at the question as flashes of the night danced across her vision, as the fear returned. The beeping on the monitor increased ever so slightly with her heart rate as Clare played with her hands.

"I remember the earth shakes." Clare began in a whisper, before swallowing. "I remember the ceiling falling, and then everything went black."

"That's good. Anything else?" Olivia asked, encouragingly, as Clare gave an unconscious flinch at the sound of Olivia's voice.

"Waking up and my side hurting, and then the Doctor Lady was there." Clare concluded with some hesitance.

"Did you notice anything strange when you woke up, anything that seemed out of place to you?" Olivia queried.

Clare shook her head, as if the question was unable to be answered. She couldn't tell these people, that one minute the man in front of her wasn't there and the next he was, in a structure that was unfamiliar to her.

"Oooh, Astra, look at that!" Walter's excited exclamation sounded in the quiet room, breaking the silence.

"Walter –"Olivia began, in a slightly stern tone of voice as Peter turned to his father with a raised eyebrow.

_How did they find me?_

Clare's Blue eyes widened suddenly as her heart rate spiked. Her brain making connections between the voices and the tone's she had just heard. She had heard those voices a few times before, and it always meant pain. Clare could feel the breathe leaving her lungs as she began to hyperventilate – the voices of the woman and the older man triggering flashbacks of two similar people, who she had met just under a year ago in a place similar to this but different.

The sound of the monitor alarms brought Nurse Watson back in, as Olivia and Broyles shared a look and moved out of the way. Peter, who was alarmed at the girls reaction, sprang into action as the nurse ran into the room -after taking some observations on another patient ,- and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, placing his two large hands on the girls small, heaving shoulders.

"Hey, hey it's okay." Peter said gently, as Clare's eyes darted unseeing around the room, coming to rest on Peter's shoulder but not really seeing it.

_How did they find me?_

"Please don't hurt me." Clare whispered over and over in a mantra, as her small chest heaved, causing pain to spike from her surgical sites, which took her breath away and caused a whimper to leave her.

"Nobody is going to hurt you," Peter said, trying to assure the girl above the increasing noise of the monitoring equipment. "You're safe."

Clare shook her head vigorously at Peter's words, as images continued to dance across her vision – mixing with the voices she had heard before and then in the hospital room. Voices, which were devoid of emotion, full of authority and power. She wasn't safe – not while those other people were in the room.

_Can he be trusted? Can anyone be trusted?_

Clare's mind whirled with questions are her gaze fixed finally on Peter as nurses rushed in.

"I must ask you all to leave. Immediately." Nurse Watson barked as she raced around to Peter's side of the bed.

Peter looked into the fearful Blue eyes, but had no choice but to comply with the nurses orders. He was getting ready to stand when a small hand sprang up and gripped the fabric of his jacket sleeve in an iron grip. All movement stopped as Peter sent the hyperventilating girl a questioning look.

_He's different from the other people. He won't hurt me._

Clare turned her terror filled eyes to Peter's face, a silent plea plain to see in her wide eyes. _Please don't leave me_.

"I'm not going anywhere." Peter said, partly in answer to the girl's silent plea, and partly to Nurse Watson who saw the distress in her young patient – who seemed to be using the young man beside them as a life line.

"I must ask the rest of you to leave," another nurse said to the other four team members, ushering them out of the room.

"But Peter-" Walter began as the nurse gently placed a hand on his back, and guided him toward the door.

"Everything's going to be fine, Walter. Just go with the others. I'll be out soon." Peter called behind him, as he gently retook his seat on the edge of the bed beside Clare, who watched his every move with her hand still holding onto his sleeve just as tightly.

"Prepare a light sedative." The other nurse said, "We need to get her heart rate back under control."

"I'm right here." Peter whispered, as he met Clare's gaze steadily, as he used his free hand to place it on Clare's shoulder once again, while allowing Clare to bring the hand whose sleeve she was gripping to her lap, where Peter gently took hold of her other hand.

At the motion, the alarms died down as Clare's Heart rate returned to normal and Peter gave the fearful young girl an encouraging smile.

"You're going to be fine." Peter said, nodding his head and giving Clare a reassuring smile, as Clare began to regulate her breathing under his watchful gaze.

Nurse Watson watched the scene before her, as she let out a small sigh, shaking her head toward her colleague who was about to use a syringe to inject a mild sedative into the IV Saline bag. Checking the monitors, Kelsey could tell that heart rhythms were returning to normal, and the O2 levels in her blood were rising back up to the usual levels.

Looking from the frightened young girl, to the man sitting beside her, Watson could almost see the spark of a connection forming between them. Clare laying back hesitantly against the pillows as she tried desperately to blink away the wave of tiredness that was enveloping her after what had just occurred, whilst the man moved his hand slowly off her shuddering shoulder to wipe a few stray tears that had slipped down the girls face during the mini episode.

It was not unheard of for a child who went through such a terrible trauma to latch onto an adult as a lifeline, but it was strange that from what she had been told, the pair had never met before today. Either way, the man didn't seem to be making any move to discourage such a feat. Even though, he had been just as surprised as the other adults in the room at the girl's actions.

"Are you alright here, Sir?" Kelsey Watson asked, as she looked between the man and her patient.

Peter Bishop, his gaze not wavering from Clare Warren's face, remained silent for a few moments as he took in the situation at hand. His brow furrowing slightly in thought, as he watched the mix of emotions flicker across Clare's face.

"Yes." Peter answered, looking to Kelsey. "I've got this under control. Thank you."

Nurse Watson nodded. "Very well. I'll leave you alone."

Peter nodded, as he turned his attention back to the girl in front of him, who watched the nurses leave the room as she continued to hold onto his sleeve in a death grip. At the sound of the door closing after Nurse Watson, Clare loosened her grip on the man – Peter's – sleeve as her eyes fell onto her lap where he held her small hand in his larger one; feeling his gaze on her.

"You feel better?" Peter asked gently, so as not to startle Clare as she began to settle uneasily back in the bed.

Clare swallowed loudly before giving a small nod. Peter smiled weakly as he gently brushed his thumb over the back of the small hand he had taken hold of.

"What happened back there?" Peter asked softly. "What frightened you?"

Clare didn't answer verbally, but instead shook her head in response as she kept her eyes down. The monitor she was attached to indicated to Peter that Clare's heart rate had elevated slightly at the question.

_Will he hurt me? Can he be trusted? _

"That's okay. You don't have to tell me." Peter compromised as he continued to brush his thumb over Clare's small hand. He could almost feel the girls minute shakes as he held her hand.

_What had happened to this kid, to make her so afraid of everyone?_

"My name is Peter," Peter continued conversationally. "The rather loud man who startled you was my father. He can freak many-a-person out when they first meet him with his eccentricity."

Clare's brow furrowed at the information. The man's voice had been so familiar to her at the time. She had heard it many times before, but he looked different to the man she was used to.

* * *

><p>*Flashback*<p>

_She wakes up in a darkened room, lying on an uncomfortable surface. She doesn't know how long she has been here, but she thinks it's been at least a few days. As she moves around, a sound is heard off to one side of the room as a bright light comes on overhead and an observation window is revealed from the wall facing her position._

"_Sir, she's awake." A man's voice said, on the other side of the window. _

_She blinks at the bright light as she turns her eyes to the window from where she is sitting on the cot in the corner of the room, to see the blurry image of a man in a white lab coat standing beside a slightly older man, who was dressed in an expensive suit and had greying – slightly curly – hair._

"_Good." The older man replied. "Let us begin."_

*End Flashback*

* * *

><p>Clare gasped slightly at the memory, as she tightened her fist around Peter's sleeve, her face scrunching up as she tried to remember the face of the older man, whose voice was similar to Peter's father.<p>

"Hey, what's wrong?" Peter asked with concern. He spared a quick glance at the observation window where Olivia, Walter, Astrid and Broyles watched him interact with the girl. Peter didn't even know why he had stepped in when the girl had begun to hyperventilate, but there was something about her that drew him to her – something he couldn't explain.

Clare shook her head once more as she kept her eyes shut, her light brown coloured hair falling about her shoulders as it released itself from the back of her scrubs. Peter exhaled as he closed his eyes momentarily before opening them in time to see a small tear trace its way down the young girls cheek.

"Hey, it's okay." Peter murmured as he shifted himself slightly so that he sat on the edge near where the bed curved to allow Clare to sit up. Pausing for a moment, Peter moved his free hand to the side of the girl's head, to slowly bring her small frame to his in an awkward embrace. He felt Clare stiffen under his touch, noting the flinch as she allowed him to comfort her.

"It's okay." Peter murmured as rested Clare's head on his shoulder, his arm between them as Clare held it.

_No, no it's not_. Clare thought as she buried her head into Peter's shoulder. Slackening her grip on his sleeve and moving to hesitantly wrap her arm around the side of Peter's jacket and using her hand to grip the hem of it instead. This was the first time in what seemed like a life time, that she had been held this way by anyone – let alone a grown up. It felt weird, but a good kind of weird, as it helped to sooth away the fears settling in her stomach.

Peter swallowed at Clare's motion. Growing up with Walter, Peter had grown used to the distant parent routine with Walter working all the time – but he remembered that when his father was around, he at least felt comfortable around him. But this girl, Clare, seemed to have been starved of the most basic form of comfort.

* * *

><p>Outside the hospital room, Olivia Dunham turned away from the scene, as Peter hesitantly removed his arm from between himself and the young girl and brought it around her small shoulder as she put her other hand on the top of the arm Peter had used to put his hand on the back of her head.<p>

"She's so scared." Olivia murmured, shaking her head as she leant back against the wall as Walter looked on, a feeling of pride spreading through him as he watched his son interact with the obviously traumatised child. He had come a long way from the angry young man he had been reunited with just over a year before.

"Something happened to her," Walter said off handedly. "Something happened to her and she's beginning to remember events, by making connections."

"What do you mean?" Olivia asked.

"She's identifying tones of voices and our actions with past events. She may have heard our voices and associated them with emotions of fear from the Other Side. The fact that she has made a connection to Peter could just be a survival instinct. She feels safe with him."

"Walter she's only just met him." Olivia pointed out, as she watched a strange flicker of emotion cross Walter's expression.

"I am aware Agent Dunham." Walter said rather sharply, before softening his tone of voice. "But I have a feeling that she will open up to Peter in a way she will not to us. Perhaps when she feels safe will she speak openly to us - but for now, it's up to Peter."

* * *

><p>TBC<p>

* * *

><p><strong>End Note<strong>: It may seem a little slow going, but Clare is a traumatised kid, and she is latching onto someone she feels safe with in this piece – so I'm trying to remain true to a child who could be in this situation. In season one, we see the boy in "The Inner Child" go to Olivia as someone he feels safe with, and so I am kind of using this as a base for Peter and Clare's interaction.


	3. It's going to be okay

**Title**: "It's going to be okay"

**Prompt**: Trust

**Characters**: Clare Warren/Peter Bishop/Walter Bishop

**Genre**: Hurt/Comfort

**Fandom**: Clare is a Fringe AU OC (no specific time frame is set but it's before season 3)

**Summary**: AU. Peter and Walter stay in New York while Peter helps Clare battle her demons and helps her reach a small mile stone on her road to recovery. The ability to trust someone again.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Fringe, but I do own Clare =]

**Timeline**: This story arc is AU to the Season 2 episode 'Jacksonville' - The Arc's time frame (for this collection of pieces) is between 'Jacksonville' and 'Peter' (I will start off a new collection when I reach the Peter episode).

**References**: Indirect references to Walternate and FauxLivia and the end of 'Over There part 2'. Some images depicted may be reminiscent of Season three (deprivation tank).

**Note**:

Hey everyone. Thankyou for all the story alerts and Favs for this story so far, I didn't think i'd get the interest in this, so thankyou for making a Fringe Newbie feel welcome :)

Okay, so this chapter/piece follows on from previous Prompt pieces but I have decided to move a little forward in time in order to focus on Clare recovering. I will be touching on the subject of 'PTSD' as I have inadvertently given Clare symptoms in previous pieces. I don't know a lot about the disorder, but I am going to try and keep this as true as possible so I apologise if any of this is wrong – this chapter may not be light reading. But I promise, things will (hopefully) get better from here.

* * *

><p><em>Knock. Knock.<em>

Looking up from the picture she was in the middle of drawing, Clare Warren watched as the door handle to her hospital room turned and the door opened to reveal Peter Bishop's tall form, as he slipped into the room, dressed in a pair of black jeans, biker boots, and dark button-top shirt; his jacket held in one hand as he entered the room fully and gently shut the door behind him.

"Hey," Peter said softly by way of a greeting, as he slowly walked over to the table and chairs that had been set up near the small sofa in the private room. Clare sent him a timid smile as she watched Peter walk over and sit beside her at the table, tossing his jacket lightly across the sofa as he did so. Settling down in one of the remaining chairs, Peter rested on arm across the free space of table, that wasn't covered by drawings and colouring pencils.

"You've been busy." Peter commented as he took in the small pile of pictures, and gestured toward them, as he met Clare's blue eyes with his green ones.

After the panic attack a few weeks before, Doctor Nichols – the doctor who had first treated Clare back at the building merge- had suggested Clare have a psych evaluation, by one of the hospitals child psychologists. Peter had been invited to sit in as he had been the one Clare had turned to when she had the panic attack, and had later agreed to continue his involvement in Clare's recovery at the suggestion of the Psychologist.

Clare had been diagnosed with a form of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). Whilst not as easy to diagnose in Children – particularly children under 12 – as in adults, the psychologist had explained that the symptoms Clare had been displaying since she had been found (such as fear, helplessness and her inability to trust those around her) were specific symptoms linked with childhood PTSD. That, along with her later flashbacks and the associations her mind had made with Olivia and Walter's voices, helped cement the diagnosis.

* * *

><p>*Flashback*<p>

_Peter looked through the observation window to see Clare shift slightly in sleep, before he turned back to meet the gazes of Walter, Dr. Nichols, and the resident child psychologist, Liv Peterson, who had just been explaining her findings._

"_Post Traumatic Distress Disorder?" Peter asked, as he turned back to the group fully. "She's a kid. I thought the disorder was normally associated with war veterans."_

"_Normally, PTSD is more commonly seen in adults, but it's not unheard of in children. Recent studies have shown that 15-43% of girls under the age of 18 will go through at least one form of trauma – and of those children between 3-15% of girls will develop PTSD." Dr. Peterson explained. "Now, while PTSD symptoms have been seen to go away over the course of a few months, there is a possibility that unless treated, the child who shows symptoms will continue to do so for years after the event of has occurred."_

"_So how does this information help Clare?" Peter asked. "You said that this can go away in a few months, but I have a feeling you didn't elaborate on that."_

_Dr. Peterson nodded mutely. The part she had left out was a deciding factor when it came to helping children work though their ordeal effectively – but it could also be asking too much of the young man before her._

"_In most cases, the child affected normally has the support of a care giver or parent, who helps them work through what has happened, and helps them deal with their emotions and thoughts by tuning into the child's needs – helping them to feel that they are safe and secure. In Clare's case this is difficult, as she has no known relatives or family members who can be here – she is alone."_

_Peter took in a deep breath before exhaling as he took in the explanation- and by the look on Walters face; Peter's father knew the implications of the Doctor's words, as Peter bowed his head with a slight shake as he took in the information. What she was asking was a lot, and she knew it – that was why she hadn't told them before. This would be a long process, which could take months to work out, with regular hospital visits and dealing with a lot of emotional baggage carried by the young girl who had not even reached her twelfth birthday yet. Clare would need someone who could be there for her, and with looking after Walter and working in the Fringe Division, Peter didn't think he could do it._

"_May we have a moment please?" Walter asked breaking the silence that had fallen on the group and causing Peter to raise his head and look questioningly at his father. _

"_Of course," Dr Nichols nodded, as she and Dr. Peterson took their leave of the two men who stood by the observation window._

"_Walter?" Peter asked, with a quizzical expression on his tired face._

"_Peter," Walter began. "I realise that in helping Clare, you will not only be helping a little girl return to health – but it would mean that you will be torn in three ways. And I do not believe it is fair on you."_

_Peter nodded vaguely at Walter's bluntness of the situation as he brought a hand up to his face to rub it over his stubble chin absentmindedly._

"_However," Walter continued. " I also believe that she chose to look to you as the person she could trust for a reason, and that should not be ignored."_

"_What should I do, then, Walter?" Peter asked with slight exasperation. "I can't just leave you alone in Boston, and I can't just leave Fringe Division. So what do you suggest i do?"_

"_The answer is simple." Walter answered._

"_Well, would you kindly share with the rest of the class?" Peter shot back with sarcasm._

"_No need for that tone, Son," Walter said with a frown. "I suggest that you stay here, in New York for a time; I'm sure Agent Broyles will allow for some time off, and while you focus on young Clare, I shall go to Massive Dynamic and explore some of Belley's work and see if it can help us in our cases for when we return to Boston. I'm sure Nina won't mind me looking."_

"_Walter-"Peter began, only for Walter to cut him off._

"_No, Peter. There will be no arguing over this." Walter said, putting his foot down. "I see how you interact with Clare, and I see how much she trusts you. Such trust will not come so easily to her if it were a stranger who would take her months to adjust to. She needs you, and you need her."_

_Peter sighed, realising that for the first time- Walter could be right. He did care for the girl, the connection was made when he first saw her back in the building, terrified of everyone around her. He had first thought that his reaction was normal, as it's never easy to see a kid in so much pain and with such fear, but it wasn't. He didn't know how it had happened, but he would be damned if he was going to let this chance of giving a girl back her life go to the wayside; especially after everything he had done in the years before he was reunited with Walter, and joined Fringe Division._

"_Alright. Okay." Peter murmured. "Let's do this."_

*End Flashback*

* * *

><p>Clare looked down at the picture she had been busy working on when Peter had come in. It wasn't as dark as some of the others – Just a pair of eyes in a rectangle surrounded by black, watching her as she sat in the darkness of the room that had been her home for several months before her escape. Peter noticed the look on Clare's face as she did this; over the past two weeks,<p>

Peter had found himself adapting to the younger girls moods, after he decided – with Walters help- to be here for Clare as she began her long road back to some semblance of normality (or as normal a life a young girl who found herself in a different universe could have in situations such as this). When looking at the pictures she had begun to draw over the past week or so, chewing on her bottom lip, indicated that she wanted to interact and reply – but then she would flicker through an unseen image and stop herself.

Peter watched her for a moment before asking. "Can I have a look at these?"

He gestured to the neat pile of pictures that had begun to build up over the past week, as he raised his head from where it had been resting on his hand. Whilst Peter had taken the role of an observer the past few days, – merely keeping Clare company as she drew, and giving her reassuring smiles if she turned his way- Dr. Peterson had also told him that Clare had to learn to talk about her experience, and that if he looked at her pictures, he could perhaps gain some notion of what had happened, and thus, he would be able to engage and try and help her break her silence.

Clare's head snapped up at that, a flicker of emotions passing across her face as Peter's words sunk in. Peter met her gaze steadily, showing her both his sincerity and the seriousness behind his question. The pencil that Clare had been using, shook slightly in her hand as her eyes darted momentarily to the pictures and then back to Peter.

"It's okay," Peter said after a moment. "I promise."

Clare had to close her eyes at Peter's words. Images of the man in the lab coat reassuring her that she was okay, only for her to be poked and prodded, and have wires connected to her – some of them painful – for days on end, as she played the part of a lab guinea pig. _The other people promised it would be okay, and they lied... But he wasn't the person who hurt me_.

Peter watched as a shudder passed through Clare at his words, as if he had triggered another memory. He mentally berated himself for doing it, his hand curling unconsciously in a fist as he exhales, and bows his head, closing his eyes.

_I can't do this. But she needs to face this sometime – I just hope I'm doing the right thing by pushing the kid._

After a moment, however, the younger Bishop forced his eyes open when he felt a small hand hesitantly touch his elbow, finding Clare watching him, her eyes showing a mixture of fear and concern for him – _She thinks I'm angry with her._

"I'm sorry." He murmured, his hand automatically uncurling from the fist and sending her a weak smile.

Clare pauses for a moment before taking her hand from his elbow and slowly reaching across the table, taking the small stack of pictures in her hand before tentively placing them in front of Peter, swallowing loudly as she retracted her hands back to her side of the table and bringing them down to her lap.

"Are you sure?" Peter asked gently. Clare nodded, before bowing her head so that she could stare into her lap.

"Okay," Peter continued, - more to himself than aloud as he steeled himself- as Clare looked back up to watch Peter turn the pile around toward him. She wanted to see his reactions, but she was also scared in case he decided he didn't want to come back and visit her after seeing them. Peter hadn't told Clare about his own meeting with Dr. Peterson in regards to his own role in helping her, so Clare was unaware of the idea that through taking this step – Peter was cementing his own resolve to take an emotional stand point.

Before being reunited with Walter, Peter held the belief that If he didn't take interest in people or situations he couldn't be affected emotionally. But since meeting Olivia, taking care of Walter, and becoming one of the 'Good Guys', Peter had allowed himself to become more emotionally involved when it came to the people in his life. He didn't understand how she had done it, but Clare had managed to add herself to the list of people Peter allowed himself to care about. It was a new concept, but Peter didn't want to fight this connection – not like he had initially when he had become Walter's guardian.

Turning to the first picture, Peter found himself looking at a childish depiction of a child- Clare- sitting on a bed with her knees to her chest – arms enveloping them – surrounded by blackness.

_Isolation... Loneliness... Fear... She was scared and alone_.

Peter thought as his brow furrowed slightly. He placed the picture on the table face-down, not saying anything to Clare until he was able to get a grasp of her drawings.

The next picture showed Clare in some sort of tank – filled with water by the way she had drawn it – with two pairs of eyes draw, looking down at her as if observing her – something that looked suspiciously like a computer screen drawn to one side of the tank below one set of eyes with wavy lines drawn in the area of the monitor.

_Experiment... observation... study... Is that a deprivation tank of some kind?_

The idea made his stomach clench.

Peter turned to the next picture to find him sending a quick glance to Clare, whose eyes had returned to her lap, before he turned back to the picture. _Oh God..._

A car was shown, upturned, and surrounded by a large flame; in one top corner, Clare had drawn a gravestone marker, and in the other corner, she had drawn what could be a window showing herself alone with a sad face.

_They're dead... And she saw it all... No wonder she doesn't trust anyone... Her parents are dead, and she is made to feel alone and scared, as she's used as a lab rat in some sick study._

Peter felt his pulse rate rise as the pieces slowly came together in his mind as he made sense of the images Clare had drawn, putting them in an order that seemed to suit them in his mind's eye. The conclusion he came to made him both angry at the people who had done this, and sympathy toward the eleven year old girl who had seen it and been a part of it all.

Adding the last picture to the pile he had seen, Peter brought his hands up to rub his face as he processed it all, and tried to retain some semblance of composure. When he brought his hands down from a few moments later, he found Clare squirming in her seat unconsciously as her eyes came level with Peter's chest.

"Clare." Peter began, his voice sounding strangely calm in contrast to the anger that had settled just below the surface. Clare flinched, before dragging her blue eyes slowly up to Peter's face – not quite reaching her eyes.

Peter's heart broke at her reaction to her own name. It was the first time he had used her name directly, thinking it was best to act casually around the younger girl instead of using formality – formality was a barrier, that wasn't needed here – Clare had to feel comfortable around him, (well as comfortable as she could be), but he needed to know that he had her full attention so that he could make sure she knew that he didn't blame her for anything she had drawn.

Knowing that his next action could cause Clare to withdraw back into herself, Peter pushed his chair away from the table – it's legs scraping on the smooth floor as he did so – before moving over to kneel beside Clare's chair; placing one hand at the back of it to steady himself – as Clare edged her shoulder away from it slightly in fear.

"Clare, look at me please." Peter tried again gently, his blue eyes trying to catch hers.

Clare closed her eyes as Peter came to kneel beside her, moving away from his hand unconsciously in fear. She could feel tears prickling the edges of her eyes – from both sadness and the frustration that she was too afraid to speak – as Peter asked her to look at him. She merely shook her head as she tried to turn her face away from Peter.

Peter anticipated the move, and so gently used his free hand to catch Clare's face and gently cup her chin in his hand. He could feel the shakes emanate through her as he did this, but he had to keep his resolve if he was going to break through the wall Clare had built up – even if it was only for him to get through as a starting point- and help her move forward.

"Hey, I'm not going to hurt you." Peter whispered, as he guided Clare's face back around to face him, moving his hand from the back of the chair to place it gently on Clare's back between her shoulder blades – causing Clare's breath to hitch and a tear to escape her closed eyes.

Peter kept his gaze on Clare's face as he felt himself waver slightly as the tear slipped down Clare's cheek, and to his finger. He shifted his hand from Clare's chin to the side of her face. Clare's eyes opened and he found himself looking into her watery gaze.

"Hey," he whispered.

Clare turned her gaze down momentarily – Peter's eyes following – as she looked at her shaking hands, before she looked back up to Peter, her worry evident in her eyes. Peter brushed a wisp of the girls hair gently back behind her ear before he began – considering his words carefully so as to frighten the girl any more than she already was.

"I know this is hard for you," Peter began hesitantly, having never been in this position before. "And I can't begin to relate to what you are going through, and what you have been through. But I want you to know, that whatever has happened, was not your fault."

Clare swallowed as he said this. _It was my fault, everything was my fault._

"I know you think it was," Peter continued, as if reading her mind. "But the accident... and what those people did to you,,, The blame does not lie with you – it lies with the people who hurt you."

Clare's breathing hitched as he said this. Tears silently streaming down her face, as she kept Peter's gaze, her chest rising and falling unsteadily, as Peter began to rub gentle circles on her back – offering her his silent support. Shaking her head silently in denial, a sob escaped the eleven year old before she could stop it – the full weight of Peter's words hitting her.

Peter let out the breath he had been unconsciously holding as he watched the small girl crumple before him, – her eyes clamping shut- as the wall he had seen her build up after the unintentional triggering of memories by Olivia and Walter finally fell and the tears Peter had watched her hold back broke free of their mental dam.

Doing the only thing he could, Peter moved closer and pulled Clare's shaking form to him, guiding her head to rest on his shoulder so that he could rest his head on hers, as he enveloped her in his toned arms. Clare's own arms reached out to grip the front of his shirt, the shakes still noticeable against him. Peter closed his eyes as he felt a single tear escape from the corner of his eye, and fall into Clare's loose light brown hair. His own emotions unusually out of check, as he allowed himself a moment to let his own mask slip. It had been years since it had.

"Shh," Peter whispered as he continued to rub his hand up and down Clare's shaking back, murmuring nonsensical words. "It's going to be okay."

Clare's sobs continued, and Peter continued to hold her as he remained in the uncomfortable position, kneeling on one knee as he supported the younger girl. She had lost her parents – he'd seen similar pictures in Dr. Peterson's office as they spoke – and she had gone through something more, a short time after by the pictures she had drawn. No child should have been left alone in the kind of situation whereby she was used as a lab rat. _Even Walter hadn't been that cold_.

Shifting positions, and using slow movements, Peter tightened his hold on Clare – bringing Clare's body to him as he gently moved her off the seat. Clare stiffened at the change but Peter rubbed her back reassuringly as he made gentle 'shh' noises. The hand that Peter had previously placed on the side of Clare's face moved to slip under Clare's bent knees as he tucked them to his side before he raised them both awkwardly – his aim to move them to the couch behind them. Clare buried her head in the crook of Peter's neck as he moved them both to the two-seated sofa, sitting down slowly and sitting Clare across his lap, with her back against the armrest.

Clare's sobs continued to echo throughout the quiet room for almost an hour, the release of nearly three weeks worth of pent up emotions, finally offering her a form of relief. Peter continued to murmur words of comfort into Clare's ear as he gently brushed a hand through her hair as he kept the arm he had used as a crook to carry Clare, about her waist to make sure she didn't slip off his jean clad lap.

* * *

><p>Unbeknownst to the pair on the couch, they had attracted a small audience outside the room, as the three females watched the scene unfold. Nurse Kelsey Watson, who – along with the other day shift nurses – had become accustomed to Peter's presence on the ward over the past few weeks, had been checking her young charges when she had watched Peter take a kneeling position beside the traumatised girl, and speak to her – his words indiscernible from the other side of the observation window – before the dam the girl had built up had broken and she allowed herself to show weakness before the young man she had formed an inexplicable attachment to.<p>

As she watched the scene, Kelsey stopped a passing colleague on her way to the nurses and asked her to page two other members of the team who had asked to be kept appraised of the girl's steps. Clare's attending physician, Dr. Moira Nichols and child psychologist, Dr. Liv Peterson , came up a short time later and met Kelsey as she continued to watch Peter as he moved both himself and his young charge to the sofa.

"Hey Kelsey, what's the matter?" Moira asked as the two doctors came to the lead-nurse, her grey eyes showing concern.

"Take a look." Kelsey said, nodding her head toward the window she stood beside. Moving forward, Moira and Liv took in the scene Kelsey had found, and looked appraisingly.

"When did this happen?" Moira asked her colleague.

"Not long, perhaps 10 minutes or so. I found Mr. Bishop speaking to her, and the dam broke." Kelsey explained as they watched.

"He's helped her take a step." Liv nodded with a small smile. She had been worried that because Peter was not a relative, he would not be able to do the same thing a care giver could with a child displaying symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress. " It may not seem much now, but by the looks of it, Clare has let Mr. Bishop in."

Liv noticed the pictures separated from the others. "She let him see her drawings." Liv nodded to herself. "She hasn't let anyone look at the things she's drawn, and I haven't been able to help her."

"Do you think he's helped her make progress?" Moira asked. When she had first met Peter Bishop, Moira hadn't taken Peter to be the kind of man who could help a child deal with trauma – especially when they had never met before the hospital.

Dr Peterson smiled. "I think he is helping her. An attachment had formed – it's what Clare needs; someone who can help her deal with her emotions and can perhaps help her work through her thoughts – the pictures are her way of expressing her memories and thoughts to us as she isn't speaking. By allowing Mr. Bishop to look at even a few of those pictures proves that she has placed her trust in him."

* * *

><p>TBC<p>

-O-

**End Note**:

Well, there is the end of this prompt. I know the story-arc has been depressing so far, but Clare's experiences have affected her, and they need to be addressed before she can move on – and Peter, being the one she turned to, is helping her do so. I apologise for lack of other canon characters in this particular prompt/chapter – but I felt it was important to focus on Peter and Clare – and how he can help her move forward from what has happened in her past - (but I did like writing the flashback scene's Walter/Peter aspect). I have written aspects of Clare's past on the other side into this particular prompt, but I hope to write a flashback prompt to fill in gaps.

The pictures Clare drew were a form of 'Play Therapy' which in the case of Clare, is the only way she can communicate what has happened to her and how she feels as she hasn't been talking - I promise that this will change soon, It's hard writing this with only Peter talking and Clare trying to respond non-verbally. I know she spoke in the previous chapter briefly, but the flashback triggered unintentionally by Walter and Olivia's voices brought the underlying issues to the surface and so Clare built up a wall to protect herself, and wasnt letting anyone in. This is also why I sent Olivia back to Boston - but she'll be back don't worry. And is also why I havent brought Walter back to the hospital yet. Clare's new bond with Peter needs to develop before new people are introduced, and Clare's Fear of them can be addressed once she knows Peter will be there to help her deal with what's going on.

I'd like some feedback after this chapter. It was hard to write, and I'm worried that I've taken Peter very Out of Character – which was not my intention. I also hope that the speed of this is steady, and easy to follow - please do tell me if I should speed it up, or slow down alittle.

I won't give you an exact day when I'm going to post next, as I have to figure out the next prompt to use (some of the ones that could work for this particular arc I'm trying to save for later on in the story and character development).

Thank you for reading. Peter Bishop Hugs to you all :)

- Athar


	4. Interlude: Fearing the Unknown

**Title**: Interlude: Fearing the Unknown

**Prompt**: N/A [no prompt]

**Characters**: Clare Warren/ Peter Bishop

**Genre**: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

**Fandom**: Clare is a Fringe AU OC

**Summary**: AU. Peter and Clare have a heart-to-heart one afternoon in the hospital.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Fringe, but I do own Clare =]

**References**: References to Peter's past – Misc. Episodes (Season 1-3)

**Time Frame**: Story is set between 'Jacksonville' and 'Peter' – using a bit of creative license with the canon timeframe.

* * *

><p>"Peter?"<p>

Clare Warren's voice was so soft, Peter Bishop wasn't sure he had heard her. Looking up from a file Olivia Dunham had sent over from Boston, Peter turned his blue gaze over to the small table he sat near where Clare was situated – her jean clad legs swinging beneath the chair she sat on- with a coloured pencil resting between her finger and thumb as she looked up from the drawing she had been working on. Since Peter had helped Clare overcome the first of many emotional hurdles, after looking at some pictures Clare had drawn about what had happened to her in the other universe as part of her therapy to work through what had happened, Clare had begun to slowly come out of her shell around the younger Bishop. She had only started speaking properly less than a week ago, but compared to the previous few weeks of silence – and small conversation from the young girl was a godsend.

"Hmm..." Peter acknowledged with a smile.

"Do you miss your work – and your friends back in Boston?" Clare asked with slight hesitancy in her voice. Peter closed the file he had spread on his lap- his ankle resting on his knee- to give Clare his full attention.

If he was being honest with himself, Peter was missing Boston. He was missing the strange cases the team found themselves investigating and he missed seeing Olivia. The two remained in daily contact while Peter stayed in New York with Walter and looked after Clare, but it wasn't the same as seeing her every day. Walter seemed to be utilising the pass granted to him by Nina at _Massive Dynamic_ to its fullest, but Peter could tell that his estranged father was itching to get back to his Harvard Laboratory and their recently purchased home.

"Yes, I guess so." Peter answered truthfully, as he moved the file aside- placing his raised foot back onto the floor as he sat forward, his clasped hands resting on his knees at the elbows as he did so. "Why do you ask?"

Clare bit her lip before answering. "I'm the reason you stayed in New York."

It was a statement, not a question, and Peter couldn't decide if her strong – and arguably blunt- choice of words were a progression or a shock.

"Because of what I did," Clare continued. "Grabbing hold of your hand that time. It's why the Doctor's asked you to stay when they figured out what was the matter with me. Its why you can't go home yet – until I get fixed... if I get fixed."

Clare finished the last sentence quietly. It had been on her mind for a while, and it had been the first time she had been comfortable enough around Peter to try and voice her opinion. Since Peter had broken through the wall she had built up, (something she honestly hadn't thought he could do),Clare had started interacting with her doctors more. She liked her chats with Nurse Watson when the nurse came to check on her progression. But Peter was the one who she felt comfortable enough with to even consider voicing her pent up thoughts.

Peter bowed his head as he brought his left hand up to rub the back of his neck, squinting for a moment as he tried to figure out what to say to the pre-teen. During the periods of silence, when Clare had refused to acknowledge anything earlier on, Peter could not deny he thought about much of what Clare had just said. But Walter had managed to read Peter, and had somehow recognised that Peter needed a focus away from both work and him (Walter). By taking on Clare, Walter had summarised it would be hard on his son, but at the same time, Walter had seen the connection between the two younger people from the moment the frightened girl had latched onto the comfort Peter had given her – and the far reaching results would be rewarding for the pair.

Looking back up, Peter noted that Clare hadn't moved in the past few minutes. Her head was still bowed, allowing her longer light brown hair to fall loosely about her shoulders- the tips of some of the longer strands pooling on the table surface. Peter sighed, as he raised himself from the coffee coloured sofa, and moved to stand by the window just behind Clare; putting his hands into his jean pockets with only his thumbs sticking out. Looking out across the greenery surrounding the Mount Sinai Medical Centre, Peter took note that spring was underway, and the New York sky was a mix of bluish sky and clouds of white and grey. _The snow in Boston would be melting now_, Peter mused as he stared out of the large window – not really taking in smaller details – before turning back to face Clare, whose back was to him.

"Clare," Peter prompted gently, leaning back on the window ledge as Clare turned slightly in her chair to glance up at Peter whose face showed contemplation instead of the anger Clare had been subconsciously expecting from the older man. Peter wet his lips as he glanced sideways before focusing back on Clare whose arm was now resting lightly across the back of the chair with her eyes turned down.

"The first time I saw you, was back in the building just after the merge. You looked tiny surrounded by the medics and the fire-fighters. But as well as seeing your fear, I also watched as you dealt with what happened head on, and you held up better than any of us thought you would."

Peter took a breath before continuing, knowing he had gone off-topic as his clear memory brought back old musings of the event.

"When Doctor Peterson explained the situation, after she had diagnosed you and we had left the room, she told Walter and I about the idea that you had somehow forged some kind of attachment or bond with me after the panic attack – and I was honestly not wishing to find myself responsible for anybody else." Peter turned his eyes to Clare to see the slightly crestfallen look on his face, as he continued. "At least, that was what I was telling myself to begin with."

Clare's brow furrowed slightly at this, confusion mixing with her sad acceptance that Peter had only stayed because he had felt sorry for her. Out of the corner of her eye, Clare watched as Peter took his hands from his pockets and moved to slide down the wall beneath the window to sit on the tiled floor just in front of her with his knees drawn up and his elbows resting on them. Peter took a deep breath before continuing; he didn't fully understand this need to explain himself to the eleven year old was coming from, but he knew that he couldn't stop now he had begun.

"I've never done well just sitting around and staying in the same place for a long period of time – I haven't since I was nineteen." Peter began again slowly as he stared unseeing at nothing in particular. "It didn't help that I got mixed up with some bad people after going a little crazy a few years back and made some bad choices."

"I only came back to Boston, to America, because Olivia – Agent Dunham- tracked me down in Baghdad to help her using some off-hand tactics that I didn't see coming, and then the FBI needed Walter's help. I hadn't seen the man in seventeen years since he was put in a Mental Hospital (St. Claire's). Olivia and her boss, Agent Broyles, wanted me to sign him out of there and become his guardian while he helped them solve a case. I'd left to get away from my father and everything that went with being his son- only to be trapped in a situation that meant dealing with the anger I had built up toward him and facing things I'd laid to rest."

Clare silently slipped out of her chair as Peter spoke, stepping lightly over in her sock-clad feet to sit beside him on the cool floor, and laid her head beside his shoulder, brushing against it lightly as Peter sat lost in memory. Feeling a presence beside him, Peter turned his head to find Clare listening attentively, unbiased and curious, offering him support. Something he should be offering her- but at the same time, it felt good talking to someone who didn't know his history, and who saw him as 'Peter' rather than 'Walter Bishop's son' or 'Former con man-turned- FBI consultant'. To Clare, he was nothing more than a man who helped her when she needed someone in her corner; a friend of sorts.

"But you were different," Peter went on, his voice steady as he turned back to look at the spot on the opposite wall he had been vaguely focusing on. "I don't know why – I can't explain it. But what I did that day we came here, when you started panicking, something inside me clicked and the next minute, I'm telling you not to be afraid – that everything was going to be okay. And then you wouldn't let go... but it didn't bother me like I thought it would."

Peter turned his gaze to Clare, whose head now rested against his shoulder as she watched him with curiosity. He offered her a weak smile as she paused for a moment.

"I don't know how it happened, but I started to care for you. And it wasnt because I felt sorry for you, I never felt that... I've made a lot of mistakes – some bigger than others, and some I probably will never be able to correct – but when Dr. Peterson explained that Kids who had been through trauma had someone to help them through it, I didn't believe that I was the person you needed to help you – It wasn't me."

Peter moved his arm back and used his finger to playfully tap Clare's button nose – it was instinctual and for the first time, Clare didn't flinch at the sudden motion. Instead she gave him a warm smile in response and so he carried on, knowing this would probably be the only chance he would get to say this before he bottled everything back up like he normally did.

"But in truth, I think I was afraid- Afraid in case I did something wrong and screwed you up more. I'm not a good person, Clare, and I don't claim to be. But Walter was right about one thing when he talked to me about deciding whether or not I could be there to help you. I needed – I mean, I need you."

"You did? You do?" Clare asked before she could stop. She raised her head off his shoulder, as she looked into his blue eyes with her own.

Peter chuckled as he put an arm around Clare's shoulders and brought her to him – planting a light kiss into her hair- as Clare put a small arm across Peter's broad chest to give him a half-hug. "Yes I did – I do - and it's strange to admit that aloud. I don't understand how, but you gave me something back that I'd lost. I don't even understand what it is that you've given me, I don't think I could put it into words."

"So in answer to your question," Peter concluded. "I chose to stay, because I wanted to be here to help you. I admit that I do miss Boston: I miss my crazy job and I miss my friends there; Hell, I miss Walter using our kitchen as a lab-away-from-his-lab. But don't think for a second you kept (or trapped) me here, understand?"

Clare nodded against his shoulder. "Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you." She said simply, as she buried her head slightly deeper into Peter's shoulder, as Peter slowly put his other arm around her. Her words and actions were simple gestures, but they meant more to Peter than he realised – or let on. Two words had been filled with gratitude and understanding, and Peter knew that he didn't need Clare to explain, because she knew he would understand. It caused a small lump to form in his throat.

They remained like this for some time, as the weak sun moved across the sky. The two sat in companionable silence before Peter had an idea.

"Hey," Peter said, coughing as he cleared his voice and broke the companionable silence, "How would you feel about getting out of here for a while?"

"Really?" Clare asked, sitting up.

"Really," Peter nodded, as another thought occurred to him. "We could meet Walter, and have an ice cream maybe?"

Clare's face fell slightly, as she chewed her lower lip. Peter noticed this and frowned slightly with concern. "What's the matter?"

"He reminds me of the bogey man," Clare admitted, referring to the similarities between Peter's father and the man she had feared in the other universe, a little ashamed.

From the stories Peter had told her when she didn't talk, Walter Bishop sounded like a funny person. But she remembered what had happened the last time she had met him- When his voice and the lady's (Olivia's) caused her to have a flashback from home. Doctor Peterson had told her that such flashbacks were normal, and that they were her minds way of dealing with what happened. When her dreams had started just over two weeks ago, Peter had taught her something Walter had taught him- it was a mantra of sorts '_Please don't dream tonight'_ which would stop her from remembering the dreams when she woke up.

"I don't want to be scared of him," Clare whispered anxiously. "But I don't think I'll be able to help it."

Peter relaxed and gave her a reassuring smile. "Is that why you're worrying? In case you frighten Walter?"

Peter's tone of voice caused a small giggle to erupt from his young companion, as he lightly poked her in a ticklish spot on her left side.

After a few minutes, he sobered slightly. "Don't worry, I'll be there the whole time and Walter will understand... So what do you say? Let me show you a little of what this side has to offer?"

Clare thought for a moment before nodding slightly, as she answered shyly. "Okay."

* * *

><p>TBC<p>

* * *

><p><strong>End Note<strong>: This is just an interlude - partly because I couldn't think of a prompt to put it to, and partly because it didn't fit with the part I'm writing now. I hope it's okay :)


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